young man with a military haircut and a newly sprouted goatee, reading a newspaper. “I don’t have secrets,” said Landis. “You can ask me anything you like.”
“Hmm,” she said. “I might just do that. Let me give it some thought.”
“There a pay phone in this place?” asked Landis.
She held a finger up. “Uh uh uh.”
“Just fooling with you,” he said. “I know where it is.”
She went back to work and he considered his position. There hadn’t been a chance to call Bernice from the road, and today he’d continued to avoid doing it, so that now what he had was almost certainly a problem. The silence was a blister that was growing bigger and bigger, and when he finally did get in touch, the thing would burst and she’d use the opportunity to punish him and remind him how he was failing her, and possibly just failing in general.
He ate his burger and had another beer, occasionally casting his eyes on Robin, who, he had to admit, intrigued him. We broke up , he’d told his neighbor. It sounded so simple.
The military-looking guy asked him if he wanted to play pool, and he said sure. They didn’t talk at all for the first game, and Landis beat him handily. The kid—because looking at him close, Landis saw
that that’s all he was, and possibly not even twenty-one yet—put in four more quarters and racked.
“You don’t mess around,” said Landis, gesturing to the kid’s drink, which was straight whiskey. “Last time I drank that stuff in the afternoon, I ended up spending the night in jail. Drove off in someone else’s truck, if you can believe it. Looked just like mine. Key worked, too, which has to be a one-in-a-thousand chance. The judge was understanding, but they suspended my license for six months in addition to the fine.” He picked up some chalk and worked the end of his stick. “I’m Landis.”
“Devon,” said the kid, reaching out a hand.
They played two more games, and Landis won them both. Devon was intense, if not terribly good. He loped around the table like a highly focused dog.
“If you don’t mind some criticism,” Landis said, “you could stand to take a little off that stroke of yours. You look like you’re trying to poke through a piece of drywall. You army?”
Devon stood straight up. “What makes you say that?”
“I don’t know. The hair?”
“That’s right. I am.”
“I’m a patriot. Buy you another?”
Devon nodded and finished up his glass, then held it out for Landis to take.
At the bar, he got refills from Robin. He was beginning to feel what he’d hoped he’d feel, the community of strangers, the warm sense he often got in a bar.
“How’d you like jail?” Devon asked when Landis returned with his new drink.
“Not at all. You planning on giving it a try?”
“I might could. I’m AWOL right now.” He shoved another round
of quarters into the table, which rumbled and coughed out the balls. He racked with drunken attention to detail—it took three tries before he was satisfied none of the balls had rolled.
“From where?” Landis asked. “I mean, if it’s not too personal.”
“Well, I was in Bagram, three weeks ago. Migraine, I call it. Migraine, Migrainistan. Got sent to Baltimore for a couple weeks as a special treat. Decided I’d just as soon stick around, if you know what I mean.”
“I don’t get it. What are you doing here?”
“I got a girlfriend here. Well, she was my girlfriend in Georgia. Now she’s here. Fort Carson, see? She likes army guys. Camp follower, you might say. We gonna play or what?”
Landis broke, sank one of each. “Guess I’ll shoot stripes,” he said, and put in three more before finding himself with nothing. He tried a three-cushion bank that appeared possible for a brief, prophetic instant, and scratched.
“Whoops,” said Devon.
“Georgia?”
“I was stationed at Fort Benning. Rangers. I probably said enough already.”
“They out looking for you, you figure?”
“Don’t
“Hmm,” she said. “I might just do that. Let me give it some thought.”
“There a pay phone in this place?” asked Landis.
She held a finger up. “Uh uh uh.”
“Just fooling with you,” he said. “I know where it is.”
She went back to work and he considered his position. There hadn’t been a chance to call Bernice from the road, and today he’d continued to avoid doing it, so that now what he had was almost certainly a problem. The silence was a blister that was growing bigger and bigger, and when he finally did get in touch, the thing would burst and she’d use the opportunity to punish him and remind him how he was failing her, and possibly just failing in general.
He ate his burger and had another beer, occasionally casting his eyes on Robin, who, he had to admit, intrigued him. We broke up , he’d told his neighbor. It sounded so simple.
The military-looking guy asked him if he wanted to play pool, and he said sure. They didn’t talk at all for the first game, and Landis beat him handily. The kid—because looking at him close, Landis saw
that that’s all he was, and possibly not even twenty-one yet—put in four more quarters and racked.
“You don’t mess around,” said Landis, gesturing to the kid’s drink, which was straight whiskey. “Last time I drank that stuff in the afternoon, I ended up spending the night in jail. Drove off in someone else’s truck, if you can believe it. Looked just like mine. Key worked, too, which has to be a one-in-a-thousand chance. The judge was understanding, but they suspended my license for six months in addition to the fine.” He picked up some chalk and worked the end of his stick. “I’m Landis.”
“Devon,” said the kid, reaching out a hand.
They played two more games, and Landis won them both. Devon was intense, if not terribly good. He loped around the table like a highly focused dog.
“If you don’t mind some criticism,” Landis said, “you could stand to take a little off that stroke of yours. You look like you’re trying to poke through a piece of drywall. You army?”
Devon stood straight up. “What makes you say that?”
“I don’t know. The hair?”
“That’s right. I am.”
“I’m a patriot. Buy you another?”
Devon nodded and finished up his glass, then held it out for Landis to take.
At the bar, he got refills from Robin. He was beginning to feel what he’d hoped he’d feel, the community of strangers, the warm sense he often got in a bar.
“How’d you like jail?” Devon asked when Landis returned with his new drink.
“Not at all. You planning on giving it a try?”
“I might could. I’m AWOL right now.” He shoved another round
of quarters into the table, which rumbled and coughed out the balls. He racked with drunken attention to detail—it took three tries before he was satisfied none of the balls had rolled.
“From where?” Landis asked. “I mean, if it’s not too personal.”
“Well, I was in Bagram, three weeks ago. Migraine, I call it. Migraine, Migrainistan. Got sent to Baltimore for a couple weeks as a special treat. Decided I’d just as soon stick around, if you know what I mean.”
“I don’t get it. What are you doing here?”
“I got a girlfriend here. Well, she was my girlfriend in Georgia. Now she’s here. Fort Carson, see? She likes army guys. Camp follower, you might say. We gonna play or what?”
Landis broke, sank one of each. “Guess I’ll shoot stripes,” he said, and put in three more before finding himself with nothing. He tried a three-cushion bank that appeared possible for a brief, prophetic instant, and scratched.
“Whoops,” said Devon.
“Georgia?”
“I was stationed at Fort Benning. Rangers. I probably said enough already.”
“They out looking for you, you figure?”
“Don’t
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